


Proper Technique

by justanexercise



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Black Hill - Freeform, F/F, Martasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:42:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanexercise/pseuds/justanexercise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Romanoff requires another female agent to complete her mission. Agent Hill to the rescue! Lapdancing fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proper Technique

Natasha presses the stolen cellphone against her hear. Mentally, she’s preparing the numerous ways to inflict emotional and physical damage to the junior agent responsible for the bad intel. She’s up to number 23, laxatives in coffee, when her call goes through.

“Coulson,” she says first.

“Agent Romanoff. Status?”

“Delayed. Requesting additional agent.”

“Granted. Specifics?”

“Female, late 20s to 30s, attractive, undercover experience. Have her dressed in business clothes, demure.”

“Weren’t his type?” he says.

Natasha can practically hear his smirk through the phone. “I’m everyone’s type,” she fires back. “Turns out, not so much into the talent as much as the guest of honor.”

There’s the tapping of a keyboard, she waits a full minute until Coulson gets back on the line.

“Agent Hill will assist. ETA 15 minutes.”

Natasha nearly drops the phone into the bathroom sink. “Agent Hill? Maria Hill?”

“Yes, is there a problem Agent Romanov?” His tone conveys amusement rather than annoyance.

There is no way Natasha would be able to concentrate on her mission if Maria is going to be here. “Requesting different Agent.”

“Denied. She’s the only one available in the immediate vicinity with the right qualifications.”

Her jaw clenches.

“Sorry Natasha,” Coulson actually sounds sincere. “You’ll live.”

Natasha thumbstomps the end call button and dismantles the cellphone, flushing the SIM card and tossing the phone into the trash. She runs her hand through her tousled hair, yes she’ll most likely live working with Maria, but it’ll be damn impossible to not let it get to her. Revenge number 24, experimental drug Fitz-Simmons created, guaranteed to make one spew out of both ends for at least half a day, non-life threatening but entirely miserable.

-

Hovering near the bar, Natasha sips a fruity cocktail filled with more sugar than alcohol. Next to her, the target, Ivan Aristov, peruses the dimly lit club for a suitable girl to corral into his hold. So far none of them seem to line up in the vast array of men and women with their eyes glued to the stage. His stoic face turns into a smirk, showing gaudy gold teeth.

“That one,” he points at the entrance.

Natasha downs her drink. Her eye line goes from his stubby finger to what she already expects to see. Even throughout the 15 minutes of eager anticipation, Natasha’s heart still thumps at the sight of a timid looking Maria Hill all dressed up in designer slacks framing her long legs, striped dress shirt with the first three buttons undone after a fake hard day’s work at the office and lastly the blazer accentuating her waist – no doubt hiding some weapons.

Maria fidgets, her fingers tugging on her sleeve as she sits by the bar. Natasha sashays right next to her, giving Maria a thorough once-over, she doesn’t have to hide the appreciate gleam in her eyes. Putting on a show for Aristov, Natasha slides her hand up Maria’s arm and leans close to her ear.

“10 o’clock. Laugh nervously,” Natasha commands.

Complying instantly, Maria goes further and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, blushing.

“Not bad Hill,” she commends. “Private room, sound proof, two guards. They’ll leave once Aristov starts his rant.”

Maria bites her lip, nodding at the information and pretending her consent to whatever Aristov thinks Natasha has proposed. Pulling her along the club, Natasha leads them to the back where the target and his guards are already in. Maria stumbles behind Natasha, her eyes seemingly to never leave Natasha’s form, she’s already found at least five ways to neutralize the threat, Natasha knows nine ways and that’s without weapons.

Shoving Maria onto the couch, Natasha drops her robe. The silk garment flutters to the unsanitary ground. Natasha slides her hands up and down Maria’s thigh, enjoying the quiver of hard muscle under her hands. She looks up through her eyelashes, watching Maria’s pupils dilate. Maria is either as good as Natasha is in acting or she’s actually enjoying the body contact.

You can’t touch the stripper – Natasha makes that rule very hard to follow; especially when Natasha’s hands continually slide over Maria’s body, up and down her torso. She even glides her fingertips over Maria’s clenched hands. Grinning at the frustrated moan bubbling from Maria’s throat, Natasha keeps her balance on top of Maria’s lap with her fingers tangled in Maria’s hair. It’s soft and silkier than Natasha imagined, much to her delight. With Maria’s hair always tied up in a bun for work, Natasha’s been fantasizing about this moment, and there’s only one more thing she’s wanted to do. She tugs, hard.

“Shit,” hisses Maria. She glares at Natasha but firmly keeps her hands in check.

Spinning around, Natasha grinds her butt against Maria’s stomach, slowly drifting lower as Maria’s legs part to accommodate her body until she finally hits her crotch. Maria freezes. Natasha flicks her head; her hair whipping across Maria’s face. She bites on her lip; Maria is so cute with that stunned expression.

Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha see’s Aristov approaching Maria with zip ties. She keeps the sigh of disappointment in and does her part of the ruse. Maria’s hands are bound behind her. Ignoring the perfect execution of clueless victim, Natasha tears her gaze away from Maria’s widening eyes.

“W-What?” Maria asks, a convincing quiver in her voice. “What’s going on?”

Natasha slips off Maria and stands in the corner, as previously ordered to. She rolls her eyes at Aristov’s intimidation tactics, seriously, he’s cracking his knuckles and pacing back and forth right in front of Maria. He’s within full range of a leg stomp. Amateur.

He slaps Maria across the face.

Natasha digs her nails into her forearm. Quelling the urge to rip his fingers off one by one, Natasha breathes in, calming herself. Maria is a capable agent she reminds herself. That still doesn’t stop the simmering anger though.

At least he’s started spilling the secrets to all his plans and routes at Maria’s prompted responses.

“You can’t do this, someone will find out. You can’t just sell me off to some third world country without someone knowing!” Maria hysterically screams.

“The Ten Rings have their ways in Russia,” he boasts.

He lunges and chokes Maria.

That’s it.

Natasha easily locks him into a chokehold, dragging him away from Maria. He flips her over his head, Natasha lands on her feet and stamps on his knee and elbows the side of his head, enough to temporarily stun him. Clambering to stand, Aristov yells and prepares to launch into a tackle.

He never gets the chance; Maria shoots him with an ICER pistol. He falls flat on his face.

“30 seconds Maria? You’re losing your touch.”

Maria smirks, clasping the previously on her handcuffs onto Aristov. “Too busy enjoying the show.”

Shrugging her shoulders Natasha gives Maria a hint of a smile and gets back to business. “Phone?”

Maria tosses her cell phone to her. She wastes no time calling Coulson.

“Still alive?”

Natasha ignores that. “Extraction, alley way.”

“On their way, 3 minutes. You should make the most of it, could ask her out to dinner –“

She hangs up on him. There’s no way she’s taking dating advice from Coulson.

“3 minutes,” she says to Maria and gives her phone back.

Maria tilts her head towards the body. “Leg or head?”

-

“Thank you Agent Romanoff, Agent Hill, that will be all,” Coulson dismisses them.

Maria nods and stands up to leave along with Natasha. When Natasha takes a glance back, Coulson points at Maria and winks. She gives a blank stare with one raised eyebrow back at him. He’s too invested in this. Note to self, ask/interrogate Clint about possible betting pools regarding her sex life.

“Sorry I ruined your night,” Natasha says.

“You didn’t.”

Natasha bumps her shoulder against Maria’s. “Still, I should make it up to you.”

“There’s no need, it’s our job Natasha,” says Maria. The corner of her lips turns up. “Besides, do you know how many agents would have killed to be in my position? A lap dance from the Black Widow and lived to tell the tale.”

“That wasn’t a lap dance,” Natasha says. A scheme already forms in her mind, she’s had this scenario down a while ago, perfect time to execute it now.

“How was that not a lap dance?”

“Not a proper one.”

“Technicalities aside, having your ass grinding against my crotch equals lap dance Romanoff.”

Natasha walks backwards in front of Maria, staring right at Maria in amusement. “Gee Hill, you must’ve gotten really crappy lap dances if you think that constitutes as one.”

Maria throws her hands up. “Well then why don’t you show me what a real one is like since you’re the expert of stripping.”

“Okay, your place?”

Her foot grinds to a halt. “Huh?”

-

“You know I was joking right?”

Maria hands Natasha a glass of wine in her living room. Her eyebrows furrow at the state of her once perfectly placed furniture. Natasha drags a sturdy chair into the middle of the room, where the coffee table used to be.

“You issued a challenge,” Natasha says, sipping the alcohol. A tiny dose of courage is needed. She may have gotten this far but executing this plan needs a bit more finesse.

“What are you five? Not taking up a challenge or dare or whatever you want to call this doesn’t make you a chicken.”

“You’re right.” Natasha presses her hand against Maria’s sternum until she sits down. “But your utter inexperience of what a lap dance entails needs to be corrected.”

It wouldn’t be right to continue unless Maria really wants it too; even if Natasha’s been waiting for this moment. Not exactly this precise moment, but the same nonetheless. A chance.

Finally, Maria nods her head, a signal. Natasha starts the same way, kneeling between Maria’s legs and sliding her hands up the pressed slacks.

“So far, I don’t see a difference,” Maria teases.

Narrowing her eyes, Natasha takes up the challenge. She launches herself into Maria’s lap, almost tipping the chair over. Maria’s gasp and frantic motions to stop the momentum is engulfed by Natasha’s lips and hands. Opening her mouth, Natasha kisses Maria harder, tilting her head back. Natasha places Maria’s hand on her hips, freeing her own to wind them into Maria’s hair, tugging gently this time. Her tongue seeks out Maria’s taste, swiping up the roof of her mouth, her cheeks and meeting Maria’s tongue head on. She towers over Maria, finally, always the shorter one in this pair. Her hips seek out the firmness of Maria’s abs, thrusting, slowly.

Natasha wrenches herself away once Maria’s hands start sliding up her sides. Licking her lips to catch the last remnants of the kiss, she smirks at how disheveled Maria is. She smooths down Maria’s messy hair, she still looks as hot as ever even without the perfectly arranged hair.

“Is this still lap dancing?”

“I’m still on your lap aren’t I?” Natasha fires back. “But you’re right.” She spins back around and leans her back against Maria’s chest. “Still got to show you how it’s done.”

This isn’t a proper lap dance, not by a long shot, but Natasha does what has to be done. Pressing her butt against Maria’s groin, Natasha feels the heat coming off those slacks. She wonders if Maria is as wet down there as she’s hot. Her brain short circuits for a few seconds and she tingles from her own groin to all the places she has in contact with Maria’s warming body. By Maria’s groan, she is just as turned on as Natasha.

Maria’s fingers dig into her hips, pulling her harder back with every thrust.

She’s done playing.

Jumping up, Natasha grabs Maria by her crisp dress shirt and throws her onto the ground, the rug dulling the impact. Not wasting her time with buttons, Natasha rips open the shirt, the buttons scattering across the room. She sits atop Maria’s, softly grinding against her stomach to relieve the tension coiling in her stomach. It helps a little.

Natasha’s fantasies are coming true, she’s had this image every time she’s pinned Maria down onto the mats and rushed off before she’d do anything stupid.

It doesn’t feel stupid anymore.

Not with Maria staring, her blue eyes nearly black with dilated pupils. Arousal. And plenty of it. Natasha is pleased. Maria leans up on her elbows, until Natasha pushes her back down and rips open her bra. Maria’s mouth opens to protest the destruction of all her clothing, but Natasha has her tongue down her throat and is showing no signs of stopping. Her palms are reaching every inch of bare skin, parting useless fabric and throwing them away until Maria is naked from the waist up.

Natasha surveys her work, noting the flushed chest and stiff nipples. She smiles. It’s definitely a nice view.

“You going to stare all night?” Maria goads.

She gets back to the work under her hands, first things first though; Natasha unhooks her bra and flings it away. Natasha knows the effect she has, Maria’s eyes hold the same lust at her naked torso. Then it’s different, her eyes soften. This isn’t something Natasha’s accustomed to seeing. It’s not as terrifying as she had once thought.

Maria leans up, framing Natasha’s face with both her hands and pulling her down onto the ground with her. Natasha never breaks her gaze away from Maria’s eyes, she wonders if her own eyes has the same look. She reaches the rest of the way, kissing Maria gently.

The pace changes. Less desperate. Softer.

They’re taking their time, mapping out each other’s weak spots with tongue, nips here and there and caresses. Natasha finds a particularly good one right behind Maria’s right ear. If she licks, Maria giggles. If she kisses, Maria sighs. If she bites, Maria moans. If she sucks, Maria bucks her hips, sharply. She stays there, figuring out the perfect amount of pressure and permutations to keep Maria groaning and thrusting. There’s still the spot behind Maria’s left ear, she’ll experiment with that too next time.

Now though, her hands sneak down Maria’s stomach, rubbing below her belly button but above her slacks. She’s finding a good rhythm, if Maria’s increasing breath against her ear and the twitch of muscles under her hand is any indication.

“Come on,” Maria hisses. Her hips desperately jerk up.

Definitely the right combination. Natasha kisses along the strong jaw, going back and forth across the bone until Maria grabs her chin and kisses her properly. A jaw like Maria’s is meant to be kissed; she’ll just have to go back to it later. Singlehandedly, Natasha pops open the button and slides down the zipper of Maria’s slacks. She cups Maria’s groin, smiling at the heat and moist panties. Maria is more worked up than she thought. Natasha lets her hand stay still there for a few more kisses before she presses her palm straight down. She’s nearly thrown off. Maria’s back arches off the floor, her desperate moan echoes in the room. Snaking her arm around Maria’s back to hold her in place, Natasha grinds her hand in sharp and short.

It’s Natasha’s turn to whimper. Her hips pump against air and the occasional touch of Maria’s thigh. Natasha watches her jaw drop in pleasure, her body jolting with every thrust of her hand. She presses their foreheads together, enjoying Maria’s body smacking up against hers. It’s almost time, Natasha can tell. The muscles under her hand are tight, Maria’s hips are anxiously seeking speed and pressure and Maria is grabbing her shoulders, getting as close as possible. Natasha helps, pushing and pulling where she is needed and it starts. Maria seizes up, arching against her and grabs Natasha’s wrist, rubbing furiously, drawing out the orgasm.

“Shit,” curses Maria, still trembling with aftershocks. “Fuck.”

Natasha removes her hand, bringing it up to her nose and smelling the potent scent of Maria’s sex. She’s an addict already.

Swatting her hand away, Maria presses open mouthed kisses on her face. Maria drops to the floor, entirely pleased, but far from satisfied.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to fuck the strippers,” Maria states.

“Technically, you didn’t fuck me.”

Maria snorts, flipping Natasha over and locking her wrists above her head. “Oh is that how it is?”

“It got you on top of me,” Natasha says with a smirk. It immediately turns into hiss once Maria thrusts her thigh between Natasha’s legs.

Natasha relaxes, she won’t be throwing Maria off anytime soon, at least until this round is over.

Maybe she won’t torture the junior agent for the screw up.

It did get her laid.

**Author's Note:**

> I confess, I just wanted a lap dancing fic and this horrible plot happened. But LAP DANCING BLACK HILL!


End file.
